


The Decisions We Make

by eledhwenlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where slavery is common and magic still forbidden, Arthur and Merlin meet and have to deal with their feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Decisions We Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/gifts).



> Dear Cookie, I hope you'll like this! I tried my best to incorporate as many of your favourite things as I could.
> 
> My never-ending thanks go to P for the beta and K for the Britpicking. <333

Merlin ran as fast as he could. The riders, knights, behind him crashed noisily through the underbrush, and Merlin quickly darted sideways, hurrying for the creek. There were lots of caves there, hidden and, he hoped, unknown to the knights. If he could make it to the creek, he might escape his hunters easily enough, he thought—

A horse jumped over the fallen log to Merlin's right, landing right in his path. Instinctively Merlin jerked back--and lost his footing, his worn boots slipping over leaves and moss. He tried to brace his fall and make for the other side, but his hand hit a rock and with a pained sound Merlin toppled to the ground.

Desperation made him try to get up, to make a run for it, just try to save himself one more time. Something heavy hit him between his shoulder blades, knocking the air out of him and pushing him down to the earth again. With a mouthful of dirt, Merlin nevertheless tried again, only to have his arm give out under him, his elbow hurting fierce where he'd turned it in his earlier fall. Behind him he could hear the knight getting off his horse, his feet hitting the ground with a thud that, as quiet as it was, seemed to draw all the fight out of Merlin. Next to his head a pair of heavy boots came into his sight, but Merlin made no move to get up.

"What do we have here?" Merlin knew that voice and quietly gave up. Arthur turned Merlin to his back, looking at him silently. Despite the chase Merlin had given them--half an hour across the country, first over fields and meadows, then right into the forest, hoping to escape—, he didn't seem winded at all, not a single drop of sweat on his face, while Merlin was lying panting in the dirt. Life, he thought, was terribly unfair. 

The other riders had caught up to them now and were positioning themselves in a circle surrounding them. 

"I'll take him back to the castle," Arthur said to them. "Search the woods for any other fugitives."

"Aye, sir," Leon said and led the others deeper into the woods. 

Only Gwaine remained, looking mischievous. "I should stay to make sure you won't get lost," he said. 

Arthur snorted. "As if I even could lose my way in the forest right outside my father's castle, Gwaine."

"But you're such a busy king these days," Gwaine replied. "You might have forgotten."

Merlin closed his eyes and felt the last of his hope fade. If the king himself had found him, he'd never make it out of the dungeons alive. If any other noble in the kingdom had been the one to catch Merlin, he might have had a chance of escaping, of beguiling them and saving his skin one more time. But Arthur would not so easily let himself be swayed by easy magic--not by the most notorious wizard there was in the country. Merlin was convinced that he would be hung by the next sun-rise.

~~~***~~~

A week later, Merlin was still alive, much to his surprise. That he was made to serve the king came as less of a surprise. That he was made to be the king's _manservant_ , however, felt like a slap in his face, an insult that made Merlin seethe with rage. He was one of the greatest wizards in the country and now he was mucking out the king's stable. With a _pitchfork_. 

Merlin swore as the blisters on his fingers throbbed, sweat dripped into his eyes and half of the horse droppings on the pitchfork fell off when he held it at an awkward angle. If he could use magic, he would be done in five seconds flat. 

He supposed that was the point the king wanted to teach him. To say the least, Merlin did not enjoy this particular lesson, but the cuffs around his wrists prevented him from using magic. They were a step up from the manacles that had held him bound to a wall in his dungeon cell for the first three days of his stay in Camelot, but both manacles and the cuffs were enchanted to disperse his magic before he could bundle it into a spell. Between the cuffs and the foul potion he was forced to drink every morning and evening, there was little Merlin could do to change his situation, however.

It was ridiculous, he thought, as he attacked the muck in the stable with more ferocity than skill, ridiculous and painful that it required magic users to keep other magic users at bay. Gaius, the old man who concocted the mixture that left Merlin's magic inert, was kind--he made sure to put some ointment on Merlin's skin where it was irritated from the tight cuffs—, but Merlin couldn't quite forgive him. 

"You're too slow," someone said from outside the stable. "I should have you whipped for not being finished yet."

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to keep his calm. It wouldn't do to throw a forkful of horse shit at the king, as satisfying as that would be. "So you think, Arthur?" Merlin replied calmly. 

"I'm your king," Arthur said. There was a hint of exasperation in his voice. Merlin could picture him perfectly, his brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth slightly drooping, those blue eyes cold and hard like steel. 

And yet there was something underneath that, something yearning, something that seemed to shout, _and you belong to me_ , emphatic and also slightly sad. 

_I belonged to you_ , Merlin thought and couldn't help but remember easier times.

~~~***~~~

The first time Merlin met Arthur, his village hadn't been able to send the required tithe in grain to the king's collectors. So, as additional payment, Will and Merlin had been sold. They'd stayed together until the auction in the castle, their last five days together. But only Will had been sold off, to a merchant, and whisked away to the harbour, miles and miles away, the king had claimed Merlin as servant. 

Although it was hard work, scrubbing floors and carrying heavy loads of laundry and chopping wood, at least Merlin was given enough to eat and a warm place to sleep.

The prince was annoying, though. Loud and arrogant and so convinced of himself that Merlin couldn't help but snort when he heard Prince Arthur talk about his hunting or fighting prowess. Lies, he thought, all lies. 

One day Merlin was cleaning Arthur's private rooms. For someone who spent his entire day out and about in the castle, Arthur's rooms were quite dirty. 

Suddenly the door flew open, only to be slammed shut immediately. Merlin glanced up. Arthur had a bit of a temper and could be downright cruel to people he perceived as weak. The only person he didn't dare contradict was his father. Gossip about the royal family was worth pure gold--with a juicy bit of news Merlin could bargain for the best food down in the kitchen. 

"What are you doing here?" Arthur--well, Merlin supposed he was trying to stride over purposefully and elegantly, but the floor was wet and after a first slip Arthur had to slow down. He ended up scuffling, looking ridiculous. Merlin couldn't suppress a smirk.

"I was told to clean your rooms," Merlin say. "By the king, they do need a thorough scrubbing."

At the word _king_ , Arthur twitched. "Then work faster," he snapped. "I don't want you to linger here all day." He turned away, not even waiting for a reply. Figures, Merlin thought. Pompous ass.

"As if I'd want to linger around you," Merlin muttered under his breath--but apparently not quiet enough.

"What did you just say?" Arthur stopped dead in the middle of the room. 

"Well, we're not friends," Merlin said while bowing down to pick up his bucket of dirty water.

"Of course, we're not," Arthur said, sounding disgusted by the very notion.

"I could never be friends with such an ass," Merlin said.

While he expected Arthur to have a more or less (usually less) witty comeback, he didn't expect him to come charging at him. 

Smooth leather boots and wet stones don't mix particularly well, though, and Arthur slipped and crashed against Merlin's legs.

Until the day he'll die Merlin will insist that he didn't intend to drop the bucket of water. That it landed on Arthur was pure accident. Arthur kicking out at Merlin's legs, causing Merlin to fall over Arthur and right into the puddle of murky water, definitely was not. 

When the king learned of it, Merlin spent a few very long, boring days in the dungeon. It was a small price to pay for his insolence.

It was no surprise when Arthur came down. Merlin expected taunts at his own expense and was already composing some scathing replies which would surely earn him some time in the stocks. The food came as a surprise. In fact, it was very nice food, red-cheeked apples and cold roast and soft bread, so good that it must have come straight from the king's table.

"Why?" Merlin asked--after he'd eaten, of course, he wasn't going to waste any of this, not when he was on a steady diet of stale water and bread while he was down there.

"Because no one speaks up to me anymore," Arthur replied.

It had been the beginning of an unexpected friendship.

Well, they had been friends of a sort. Occasionally Merlin had even been glad to be a slave. Even if he had wanted to marry, he would have to get his master's approval. It wasn't strange that Merlin stayed alone. There was the occasional fling, common among servants and slaves, but usually tied to when Arthur had to entertain a princess or some other nobleman's daughter who had her eyes set on becoming queen. The rest of the time, however, Merlin was free to look, to notice Arthur growing into his frame, his broad shoulders and strong legs and--well, Merlin noticed. In turn Arthur spent some time staring at Merlin's hands.

But nothing ever happened. Nothing could ever happen, not between the prince and a slave of the household. 

And there was the magic. Merlin would always have to hide this from Arthur. 

Despite that, they were carefree years. Until Merlin had to save Arthur's life by magic and everything went to hell.

~~~***~~~

Merlin was given a small alcove in the king's rooms to sleep in. The bed, although Merlin was loathe to call it so, was hardly padded, the sheets thin and scratchy. The cuffs were a heavy weight around his arms, feeling both hot and cold against his skin. 

Merlin wasn't the only one lying awake, though. Arthur hadn't started up his notorious snoring, so Merlin knew that Arthur hadn't fallen asleep yet. The knowledge sent a strange thrill through him--both of them awake, listening to each other breathe, both knowing that the other was awake. It felt illicit in a weird way. 

"Why?" Arthur asked quietly, the question startling Merlin.

"Why what?"

"You never told me," Arthur said. 

"I couldn't." Merlin stared at the cuffs. They made his forearms look alien to himself, as if they weren't part of his own body. 

Arthur was silent for long enough that Merlin felt sure that any second now he'd hear the tell-tale snuffle-snort of an asleep Arthur. But then he heard rustling and the quiet pit-pat of steps on cold stones. 

Merlin watched Arthur approach him, frowning. His nightshirt was crumpled. It seemed silly to focus on such a small detail, but it made Merlin feel strangely fond of Arthur.

Then the man in question kneeled in front of Merlin's alcove. "You are so infuriating," Arthur said, clearly frustrated, although Merlin was stymied to point out what exactly made him upset. "You could have," Arthur continued. "You could have told me right at the beginning and I would have protected you."

"Your father—"

"I am not my father." Arthur's eyes were very blue, Merlin thought suddenly.

Merlin sat up with a sigh. "It wouldn't have made a difference."

"You didn't trust me," Arthur said and Merlin knew that tone of voice. Arthur sound half-defeated, hurt and a tiny bit unsure. The little bit of resolve Merlin had crumbled and he leaned forward and put his finger on Arthur's lips.

"I did," Merlin said. "I do still, but there are things which I could not trust you with."

Arthur kept quiet and Merlin became very much aware of how hot Arthur's lips were against the tip of his finger, how Arthur's breath felt hot against his chilled skin.

For the longest time Arthur didn't say anything. He just looked at Merlin with those eyes that made Merlin think that Arthur could see right into Merlin's soul. When Arthur wrapped his fingers around Merlin's wrist, it was almost a relief to see anything finally happen. But then Arthur pulled Merlin's hand against his chest, curling his fingers around Merlin's. "You're cold," he said.

Merlin snorted. "I thought that was the point of me sleeping on the floor," he said. "I'm sure you didn't have me mucking out half the stables for the sheer pleasure of it."

"You're so stupidly stubborn," Arthur said. "One word of apology and regret and I would've made you stop."

"I apologise about as often as you do," Merlin felt the need to point out. "Which is to mean, very rarely and only if it must absolutely be done."

"You're still as infuriating as one the day I met you," Arthur said.

Merlin stuck out his tongue as reply. He saw Arthur's gaze drop to his mouth--and stay there. Merlin cursed himself for being so infantile and his fair skin for blushing so easily. "Arthur," he started, but found that he didn't know how to continue. For years they'd danced around this issue. Then there was another magic crisis and Arthur's father became sick and Merlin was found out, forced into hiding for two years, often escaping only narrowly from being caught. He'd thought that, if he were ever to see Arthur again, he'd find him married to a beautiful woman. Instead here they were now, standing in Arthur's bedroom in the middle of the night, in a situation that was not so easily laughed off. Both of them weren't the bumbling eighteen year olds they had once been and Merlin couldn't quite deny his feelings any longer.

Arthur just smiled. "These must be bothering you," he said, stroking over the cuffs. They looked simple, with only a small lock that should have been easy to pick, if it hadn't been bewitched to only allow the one key that was supposed to open it. 

Merlin opened his mouth--perhaps to deny it, although he had been cursing the cuffs for a solid week, perhaps to admit that, yes, he felt terribly off-kilter, but Arthur already pulled him across the room, pushing him to sit on Arthur's bed, the sheets still slightly warm from Arthur's body. 

"What are you doing?" Merlin asked instead when Arthur rummaged through a small box on his desk.

"I'm looking for something," was the short reply he got. 

Arthur returned with a small, unimpressive key. Merlin closed his eyes, not daring to hope. When Arthur took his wrist, Merlin held his breath until he could hear the tell-tale click of the lock opening and the cuff fell away. He only opened his eyes when both his wrists were bare. The air was almost like a shock against his skin, after he'd felt stifled and breathless for so many days. His magic rejoiced, flowing back through his body, and Merlin couldn't help sighing contently. 

"So you are free now," Arthur said.

"Arthur," Merlin said. "What does this mean?"

Arthur fumbled with the cuffs and the key, eyes averted. "I thought, well, I rather hoped that perhaps you could trust me now and—"

Merlin watched Arthur's mouth, the thin lines just appearing around it, the way his hair fell untidily into his face, and then he moved before he'd even finished the thought. He clasped Arthur's hands, stilling them even though he could still feel the dampening spell from the cuffs bothering him like a bad smell, and leaned forward, pressing his lips lightly against Arthur's. 

The cuffs and key fell to the floor with a clatter when Arthur let them go in favour of wrapping his arms around Merlin. 

"So frustrating and stubborn," Arthur said between kisses. "I was waiting for _ages_."

Merlin took a great delight in burying his fingers in Arthur's hair, dishevelling him further. "I was waiting for you," he said. 

"Couldn't," Arthur started, but then he was interrupted by Merlin pulling his nightshirt off. "It would've looked as if I was _ordering_ you and—"

"You're stupid. When did I ever obey your orders if I hadn't been planning to do that all along?"

Arthur pushed Merlin down onto the bed, which was indeed warm and quite soft. "You would have said no just to spite me on a bad day."

"Why are we still talking about what have could been?" Merlin pulled Arthur down on top of him. "This is happening now."

Arthur kissed him deeply and Merlin temporarily forgot how to even form words. "I missed you," Arthur said quietly as he peppered kisses all over Merlin's face, stealing Merlin's breath away.

I missed you, too, Merlin wanted to say, but then Arthur pulled at his shirt and breeches and getting rid of his clothes became a priority. 

The feeling of skin against skin was thrilling. Many of Merlin's conquests had been clandestine, quick encounters where they only undressed as much as needed, in case they were interrupted. But here with Arthur he had the chance to indulge in all of the sensations. 

Arthur's skin was hot, rough around the scars, and Merlin tried to learn them all. Arthur slid his fingers over Merlin's arms until he reached his hands, clasping their hands and moving them to lie over Merlin's head. 

Merlin grumbled at the lost chance of exploring Arthur's body further, but Arthur slid closer to him, slotting himself between Merlin's legs, and suddenly this position became Merlin's favourite. Their cocks were trapped between them, rubbing against each other with each shift of their hips, and each touch was electrifying. 

It was easy to spread his legs more, let Arthur come to rest fully on top of him. Merlin would wrap his legs easily around Arthur's hips. 

"Fuck," Arthur groaned as they rubbed against each other.

Merlin gently bit Arthur's earlobe before murmuring, "I'd let you."

Arthur moaned. "You're a menace," he said. "Please."

Merlin nodded and pressed another kiss against Arthur's cheek. He expected Arthur to move away, so Merlin could turn around, but instead Arthur simply reached for something hidden beneath one of the many pillows on his bed. 

Merlin stared at the jar for a moment. Then he dissolved into laugher. "You came prepared!"

Arthur, bless his soul, actually blushed. "I wasn't! Not for this! I mean—"

Merlin took mercy on him and kissed him. "Stop worrying."

Arthur relaxed into the kiss. Merlin could hear him unscrew the lid and when Arthur leaned back, Merlin tried to turn around, but Arthur put a hand on his hip to stop him. "Like this," he said quietly. 

It felt both like pleasure and torture. Merlin could see Arthur's face, his eyes, his earnest and intense gaze, all while Arthur slowly worked one finger into Merlin's body. When the pleasure became overwhelming, Merlin had to close his eyes and arch his back. 

One finger became two became three. Arthur leaned back down to kiss Merlin, wide, open-mouthed kisses without any finesse, but Merlin was made of pure want at the moment. He needed Arthur, needed him close and around him and in him. It was absolutely insane to be so frantic, after so many years of yearning and denial, but now that the dam had broken, Merlin couldn't hold his feelings back. 

When Arthur withdrew his fingers, Merlin wanted to sob with the loss. Only the knowledge of what was to come made it bearable. Arthur pushed Merlin's knees back, spreading him, opening him in a way that should have made Merlin feel vulnerable, but instead made him only feel treasured.

Arthur's cock was thick and blunt against Merlin's entrance, the first breach just this side of painful. 

"Relax," Arthur said. Obediently Merlin took a deep breath. Arthur slid in closer, slowly, until he was buried in Merlin. Then he bent down to kiss Merlin, his arms bracketing Merlin's head. 

Merlin wrapped his hand around Arthur's neck, deepening their kiss while Arthur moved his hips in shallow thrusts. "You feel so good," Merlin said. 

"Shhh," Arthur said. "Want to last--let me." 

Merlin didn't mind. He'd pictured this scene sometimes, always with a feeling of guilt, of how it would be. He'd thought of quick fucks, fumbling in the dark, never without feelings, but always rushed, always frantic and frenzied. 

This, Merlin realised, was as far as they could go. This wasn't merely a fuck--this was them making love, every gesture, every caress, every kiss infused with it until Merlin thought he couldn't breathe anymore. 

But no matter how much Merlin pleaded and begged, no amount of urging him on, no touch and no kiss could make Arthur abandon his excruciatingly slow pace. 

Merlin could feel his orgasm build from afar, the heat in his belly curling tighter and tighter. He thought they would be able to go on for hours until finally Arthur's hips stuttered, his careful rhythm broken by simple need. 

"Come on," Merlin murmured, running his hands over Arthur's back. "Fuck me like the great king you are."

Arthur snorted. "That doesn't make sense," he said even as he wrapped one hand, calloused from sword-fighting, around Merlin's cock. "Being a king has nothing to do with my skills in bed."

"Ah, that's not what many a nobleman would have us think," Merlin said. Arthur's growl was adorable, but Merlin's laughter was cut off quickly by Arthur jerking him fast and finally, finally, _finally_ , fucking him faster, pounding into him so that Merlin's toes were curling up. 

It didn't take long before Merlin choked out a mangled, "Arthur," and came all over Arthur's hand and his belly. Then Arthur groaned and leaned down to give Merlin an almost brutal kiss, more of their lips smashing together than actually kissing, while he pumped his hips once, twice before stilling deeply buried in Merlin. Then he slumped down, resting his weight on Merlin. 

For a while they just lay there, panting, trading quiet kisses that seemed to say more than words could. 

At some point Arthur had to roll off Merlin and he grabbed his nightshirt to wipe them clean. Merlin watched his face, trying to gauge what would happen next. Now that their most primal needs were satisfied, Merlin was loathe to think of how they could go on. 

Even Arthur couldn't do away with a hundred years of slavery. As a slave, Merlin would always be unequal to Arthur, and as much as he loved Arthur, the very notion felt stifling and like a cage. 

"Stop worrying," Arthur whispered, as he prodded Merlin to lie on his side and moved to curl around him. "We'll figure this out in the morning."

The morning sounded so far away, such a distant future that it seemed like a good compromise.


End file.
